


The Pink Ghost of Princess Park

by objectlesson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Humor, Kink Negotiation, Light Dom/sub, Light Gender Play, M/M, Miscommunication, Overstimulation, PWP, Rimming, Sex Toys, So light in fact its almost not even there, also
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 15:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17490608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson
Summary: The thought of the vibrator doesnotgo away. It’s sitting there collecting dustallthrough January, and every time Harry and Louis have to leave town for a press event or a show or to record or what have you, they come back home, andit’s still there,the Pink Ghost of Princess Park, the fucking glittery haunting that Harry cannot stop thinking of Louis stuffing up his arse.





	The Pink Ghost of Princess Park

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a silly, smutty princess park era PWP! The kink elements are VERY light and also slightly under negotiated because they'e young and in an established relationship and doing what feels good more than like...actually understanding how designing scenes and talking about stuff works, but it's all very wholesome and light hearted in spite of that. Takes place like 2011 or 2012. 
> 
> Thank you Jen for your amazingly speedy and also hilariously enthused beta job for this fic. I think we're both glad I'm writing smutty canon stuff again after Life Saver, haha! 
> 
> Enjoy everyone!

—-

Harry’s too drunk the night of the White Elephant party to remember who the gag gift is even from. It’s Niall’s sense of humour but somehow too refined of a purchase to actually be from him, and it’s crude in a distinctly Nick-like fashion but lacks his finesse and cleverness and therefore errs on the side of being too obtuse for him to have thought it up. Harry supposes it doesn't matter where it came from; the problem with it is not in its origin, but in the fact that it simply _exists_. 

The issue at hand is this: _someone_ gave them a pink sparkly vibrator for Christmas, and Harry _cannot_ stop thinking about Louis fucking him with it.

He has never _before_ fantasized about a toy up his arse. It was as if he needed to have this particular toy sitting on the mantle in its box (between their unseasonable stocking hangers and the tinsel wreath they haven't yet taken down) to stare at while they watch movies at night in order to really formulate the fantasy at all. Louis put it up there because he thought it would be funny, and it was, but it’s clear that he’s forgotten about it and allowed it to blend in with the scenery, whereas _Harry_ just… _looks_ at it, curled up against the heat of Louis’s body with his hole twitching firstly with curiosity and later with _longing._

It’s super embarrassing, and he wishes it would go away. 

Initially, he just _wonders_ about it. Like, he’s never felt a vibrator in his life, and he wants to know what it feels like. Is it ticklish? How powerful is the vibration? Does it have enough force that it could zoom itself around the floor like a remote control car, or would it just sort of bump about like one of those personal massager things? Does it make a motorized sound or a kind, gentle buzzing? Harry thinks about getting it out of its flowery pink packaging and sticking some batteries in it just so he can _sate_ his curiosity, press it against his palm, but he doesn't want Louis to get the wrong idea and tease him, so it remains in the box on the mantle, mocking him.

It’s not until a night when Louis is fingering him open that idle curiosity evolves into actualized, concrete fantasy. He's trembling and sweat-slick, knees bent and resting on Louis’s shoulders while Louis kisses him deeply and hungrily, talking dirty to him while he fucks his fingers in and out, slow and hot, the only sounds in the room the squelch of lube, the slick, messy sounds of their mouths, and Louis’s filthy words tumbling over him, making him shiver. They’ve only recently started doing bum-stuff, and Harry _loves it,_ absolute _lives_ to be split and stretched and filled up by Louis’s cock, but it’s not something they do every night, not by a long shot. 

Part of it is that the act itself takes, like, energy and intensity and preparation that they don't always have time for. Whoever’s bottoming has to be in the right headspace for it because neither of them are really used to it yet. Harry’s usually more ready, but still, it _does_ require a certain amount of vulnerability, and sometimes he’s just _not_ ready to accept the fact that there might be weird noises or _shit_ or discomfort or whatever, when they can fuck _without_ the threat of those variables. 

On top of that, Louis tends to come really fast and get super apologetic when he fucks Harry, and as hot as it is for Harry to feel like his arse is just _so_ tight and desirable and magical that Louis can’t stand it for more than a minute, it’s _also_ a lot of work for not a lot of fucking, so it’s not always worth the trouble when blowjobs and getting finger-fucked are just as good. Louis makes him come perfectly in every single way, but he's just as satisfied _not_ coming and sucking Louis off for hours instead, so whatever they do is _fine._ He doesn’t feel like their sex life is _lacking_ or anything, and certainly not like it’s lacking pink glittery fake dicks that vibrate. 

But as he's lying there whimpering and bearing down on Louis’s fingers, the thought of something thicker filling him flashes across his mind. He thinks of Louis's cock, then thinks of Louis coming inside him, and _then,_ almost instantly, it occurs to him that maybe dildos and vibrators and stuff like that _exist_ solely because they’re not limited by the constraints of biology. Louis could fuck him until he came, then pull out and fuck him _indefinitely_ with a synthetic cock, until Harry couldn’t take it anymore, until he was crying and sore and trembling all over like he wants to be. 

Without even realizing it, he’s wrenching away from their kiss with a messy gasp and fisting his own cock to finish while his arse spasms around Louis’s knuckles. There he lies, breathless and static-edged and dripping come onto his stomach, and Louis actually _laughs_ at him. “ _Jesus,_ Hazza, usually _I’m_ the one who can’t last for shit. You _love_ my fingers in your bum, don't you? Go mad for it.” 

And yes, yes, he _does._ And he probably wouldn't have lasted _that_ much longer without the help of the vibrator, but _still,_ he feels the tiniest bit guilty because it definitely helped push him over the edge. Or, not the vibrator itself, but the _idea_ of it, and specifically the idea of it _in Louis’s hand,_ the thought of Louis using it to fuck him to absolute uselessness, the overstimulation of what he _imagines_ that vibration would feel like inside him. “I love you _,”_ he tells Louis, looping his arms around his neck and kissing him hard, melting at the way Louis rubs his fingers (still warm from his arse) through the mess of come all over his stomach, pushing it around on his skin, marking him with it. “Gimme your cock to suck,” he begs as Louis breaks their kiss, because this is what matters, really, at the core of anything they do together. That they're in love. It’s not about the sort of sex they have or the particular stuff they mess around with, it’s the _feeling_ behind it, the passion, the intent. It’s not like he _needs_ a vibrator to get off right, he just needs Louis. 

—-

Still, the thought of the vibrator does _not_ go away. It’s sitting there collecting dust _all_ through January, and every time Harry and Louis have to leave town for a press event or a show or to record or what have you, they come back home, and _it’s still there,_ the Pink Ghost of Princess Park, the fucking glittery haunting that Harry cannot stop thinking of Louis stuffing up his arse. 

He considers putting it away with the Christmas decorations, but that would require touching the box, and he’s not sure he can do that without opening it up. However, he risks it one day when Louis’s getting dinner with his mum and sisters who are in town for the weekend, and Harry’s not allowed to be spotted in London. He stays home and gets some cleaning done, and he’s feeling quite good about it _until_ he decides to attack the mantle. Packing up the stockings and tinsel leads to him accidentally brushing his _innocent_ hand past the box and all its elaborate swirly rose-print framing the window over the vibrator itself, and as soon as he makes contact with the contaminant, he _knows_ he’s lost. 

He ends up sitting on the couch and breathlessly unboxing the toy, hands shaky and heart in his fucking throat. He’s surprised as he pops it out of the clamshell packaging; he thought it would be plastic, but it’s sort of…coated?...in softer latex or sexy rubber, he’s not sure, but he's definitely intrigued. It’s about the same length as Louis’s cock when he’s hard, narrower at the tip, wider at the base, a dramatic taper that forces Harry to think about how amazing it would be for Louis to tease him open on just the first inch, keep him hungry and trembling for more until he pushes it in deep in a single, fluid motion, that maddening smooth-glide Louis struggles to achieve with his actual cock because he's always trembling to pieces from holding back. Which is, absolutely, its _own_ sort of hot, Harry _loves_ how much Louis falls apart when he fucks him, but he also wants to be _railed,_ effortlessly, rapidly, rhythmically, relentlessly. 

Harry makes a little noise and licks his lips, and just like that, he’s fucking twitching in his jeans. Getting _hard_ over touching a _pink, rubber, unrealistic, not even vibrating vibrator??!_ He’s mortified, but that just makes him harder. He imagines Louis putting lube on this thing, tauntingly slicking it up before turning it on and making Harry jump at the buzz, and then he’s squirming alone on the couch, blood pounding in his ears, totally fucking up the inside of his pants with precum. He decides that he _has_ to feel the actual vibration, so in a horrible arousal haze, he pops the two double As out of the remote control they use for the DVD player and slots them inside the vibrator’s battery compartment, which takes up the first couple of inches or so of its shaft. 

With a little finagling, he gets it to work, and the initial buzz is so intense and loud that he actually flinches and drops it. It rattles around on the floor for a minute, the sound dulled by the carpet until Harry makes himself pick it up again and click it down a few settings until it’s something more manageable, less tingly against his hands. And there he sits, mouth flooded as he holds this _thing_ he desperately wants inside his bum. It occurs to him that he could, like, _masturbate with it._ He's fucked himself with his fingers before, and even though the angle isn’t his favourite thing, and it’s one hundred times better when Louis does it, it’s still an _option._ Going to bed, propping himself up, and reaching around to push the lubed-up vibrator into his arse. 

It’s in this moment that Harry realizes that although _possible,_ it’s not exactly what he _wants,_ not exactly a fulfillment of the fantasy he's been cultivating in shameful silence for the last month. He doesn’t want to make himself come with a toy, he wants _Louis_ to make him come with a toy. Not only is sex just _better_ if it’s with Louis, he sort of hates the idea of doing something privately and secretly without Louis being in on it because being in love makes you want to share everything with your amazing sexy boyfriend. He doesn't even really wank all that much anymore because it seems superfluous— _rude_ , even—to waste come that Louis would rather swallow. 

So this means he's going to have to do something big, scary, uncomfortable: he’s going to have to _confess_ to Louis that the vibrator in all its pink sparkly glory is not _just_ a joke to him but something he would genuinely like to play with. 

Harry flicks it off so that it stops buzzing and sets it back on the table beside the packaging, boner wilting in his pants. 

The thing is, he has no _real_ or fair reason to be terrified. Louis has never shamed him for anything he's ever wanted sexually, and in their time together, Harry has definitely been the slightly more adventurous one due to the _years_ of his adolescence spent watching gay porn, whereas Louis, who didn’t know he was gay until he met Harry, didn’t have nearly as many fully formed fantasies. Louis has definitely figured out what he likes through trial and error, though. And even if it’s something Harry has initially never considered hot, the mere fact that _Louis_ does makes it wildly appealing, and it ends up being something he's into, too. Logically, Louis would feel the same way about Harry's requests and interests. After all, he wasn't freaked out the first time Harry begged to eat his arse, or the first time Harry told him to hold his arms over his head and not let him go, or the first time Harry asked him if he thought spanking was weird or hot. (The answer had been, comfortingly, “Never thought about it much? But hot, now that you mention it,” with an eyebrow waggle and everything.) Louis is _always_ game to try new stuff, and before today, Harry hasn't felt particularly paralyzed in regards to asking, just a normal amount of jittery or embarrassed.

He thinks the difference here might be that introducing a _toy_ feels, somehow, like a betrayal to Louis’s over-eager prick, which he’s already somewhat insecure about in spite of Harry’s long-winded defenses of it. He _loves_ that Louis comes so hard and so fast when he’s in him; he’d honestly worry that his arse wasn't tight or good enough if he didn’t. Wanting Louis to fuck him senseless with the vibrator has nothing to do with Louis’s actual prick being inadequate or anything like that. It’s a very separate desire that he’d definitely still feel regardless of how long Louis tended to last. 

Still, Harry is super worried that Louis will feel threatened or replaced or insulted, _or_ like the vibrator is an unwanted _third_ in their partnership, a plastic penis turning them from couple to triad. Harry doesn’t want to have, like, an accidental polyamory conversation, and he _definitely_ doesn’t want Louis to think that he isn’t satisfied with his cock. Because satisfied is an understatement, quite honestly: Harry is as in love with Louis’s cock as he is with the rest of him, which is enough to burn down cities and stuff. 

Doing anything that might make Louis feel not great about himself just isn't worth it to Harry, not when they’re perfectly happy together, pink vibrator or not. 

But then Harry thinks about what it might feel like to have that steady vibration against his hole as Louis teases his rim before breaching it and fucking him deep, and he has a bit of a rethink. It’s not _just_ something that he wants, it’s potentially, hopefully, something that _Louis_ would think is really sexy, too. Watching Harry shiver and writhe and beg, watching his hole stretch to accommodate that thick base. In all likelihood, _Louis_ would love it, if Harry broaches the subject in the right way. 

He’ll just have to be very, very explicit about what he wants and why he wants it, and perhaps write a love letter to Louis’s prick in the meantime. 

——

It requires a nervously chugged glass of wine, which Harry doesn't even _like,_ to finally bring the subject up to Louis. 

They’re home and on the couch half-watching VH1 countdowns while Harry partakes in his usual activity as of late, staring at the carefully re-boxed and replaced vibrator, boring holes into it with his eyes as he downs burning mouthful after burning mouthful. They were given a bottle of Chardonnay by an interviewer, and he sort of thinks it tastes like how pee smells or maybe a rotten grape soaked in turpentine and served on a slab of wood, but it’s somehow still better than red wine, so he suffers through it. 

Once he’s finished the glass and is feeling the tiniest bit dizzy, limbs floaty and cheeks hot, he turns to Louis and takes a deep breath. “So,” he announces before coughing. “I have something I wanna talk to you about. And before I do it, I need you to know that this is, like…not _at all_ about you or anything you’ve done or not done. I don't want you to feel, like, erm, like you’re not _enough_ for me or something.” 

Louis turns to him, eyes wide, face blanched. “Harry,” he says carefully, mouth pursed into a flat, bloodless line as he regards him with a mix of skepticism and muted fear. “Are you breaking up with me?” 

“What?! Oh, my _god,_ no! Never! I wanna have _kids_ with you!” Harry explodes, throwing his arms around Louis’s neck because he feels absolutely _rotten_ for making him think, if even for a single second, that _that_ was what this conversation is about. “I love you so, so much.” 

Louis sags as he exhales and pats Harry’s back before sliding one hand up into his hair. “I wanna have kids with you, too, eventually. Is _that_ what you wanted to tell me? Do you want to have the ‘future babies’ conversation right now?” 

“Erm, _no,_ not exactly. I mean, m’glad we’re on the same page with that, but the thing I have to tell you is, like…ten times more embarrassing,” he sighs, disentangling himself before slithering onto the couch on his back, head pillowed on Louis’s bent leg. He covers his face with his hands, inhaling raggedly. “So, there’s _this thing_ I’ve been thinking about. A sex thing. And it started out as, like, a curiosity, but now I can’t _stop_ obsessing over it, and m’worried that you’re gonna feel, like, insecure when I tell you? So it's really important that you know this is _not_ because you don’t satisfy me.” The whole thing comes out muffled from behind his palms, but at least it comes out _at all_. He’s already said more without crying or shutting down than he anticipated. 

“Okay…,” Louis says slowly, drumming his fingers on Harry's wrist. “I feel like this is heading into threesome territory?” 

“Noooo,” Harry groans. “Well, not _exactly.”_

_“_ Not _exactly_ a threesome? What does that mean?” Louis asks, grabbing Harry’s wrist and tugging gently. “C’mon, love, lemme see your face, at least...you’re scaring me a bit.” 

Harry miserably drops his hands, and pushing himself into the heat of the wine still burning in his stomach, he blurts, “You know the pink vibrator that appeared around Christmas? _Well_ ,” he rushes, without giving Louis time to answer, “I _really,_ really, really want you to fuck my brains out with it. But I _don’t_ want you to feel like I don't love your prick, or like this is in any way because you come fast or something like that because I _love_ that you come fast in me. It’s just…it turned into this whole separate thing, and I’d want it even if you lasted a million years, probably. So, yeah...that’s it.” 

Louis is quiet for a long time, and when Harry bravely tilts his chin up to look at him, he’s met with an incredulous expression, one of Louis’s eyebrows quirked up, his lips twisted into a half-grin. “That vibrator didn't _appear,_ Harold. I bought it for you,” he says, shaking his head. “Don’t you remember?”

Harry stares up at him, mouth hanging open as he thinks back to that night, to all the Jager bombs, all the guests, all the presents…and Louis’s beautiful, grinning, laughing face later that night as they unwrapped something privately together after everyone else had gone home. He cannot for the life of him place the vibrator in that scene, there’s just a glaring void, a willful omission, like Harry’s drunk brain was too overwhelmed by Louis getting him a naughty gift that it just couldn’t process or hold onto the information, so he selectively cut it out. “I was…I was really drunk that night,” he admits. 

“Oh, my god,” Louis snorts. “All this time I thought you just weren’t that into it! Which is fine, I mean, I _did_ sort of get it as a half-joke, hence the pinkness and the glitter and all that,” he explains, eyes wet and bright with laughter. “But here you were, _actually_ into it and _agonizing_ over it because you _forgot_ it was from me?!” 

“I blocked it out! Or I was so turned on that I stopped thinking all together and had a lapse in memory! Oh, my _god,_ I feel like such an idiot for all my _angst_ ,” Harry wails, rolling over and clutching at Louis’s leg. “So, just to be clear, you’re _not_ threatened by the possibility of fucking me with a synthetic prick?” 

“What am I, _straight?”_ Louis mocks, shoving Harry off and rolling him back onto the couch before clambering into his lap, straddling him so that he goes silent and pliant because the easiest way for Louis to make Harry short-circuit and stop functioning is to physically put him where he wants him, manipulate his body like a rag doll. “You wanna know how much I love the idea of fucking you with a synthetic dick, Harry?” Louis asks in a high, breathy, careful voice that makes Harry shiver. 

“How much?” Harry asks in a quiet hush, shuddering under Louis, cock already thickening in his PJ bottoms. 

“ _So_ much that I went out and bought you one,” he tells him, tongue flicking out to lick the shell of Harry’s ear. His voice drops to the quietest, lightest hiss as he adds, “A pretty, pink one, for your pretty, pink arsehole.” 

Whimpering wordlessly, Harry writhes, lifting his hips to buck up against Louis, hazy with more than just wine now. Oh, my god, _oh, my god._ He was so fucking _wrong_ about all of this. “Louis,” he rasps, mouth open and wet and wanting. “Please take me to bed and give it to me.” 

Louis kisses him fiercely, hard enough that Harry’s lips are wet and stinging when Louis pulls away to say, “I’ll grab the box, go get in bed and take your clothes off. Do we have batteries?” 

“Erm, dunno if we have fresh ones, but the ones in the remote fit...I know because I already tried,” he explains, blushing spectacularly, stunned by the way Louis’s eyes grow black with pupil just from hearing that. “Haven’t fucked myself with it, though, just put the batteries in and felt the vibration, like, in my hands? Wanted _you_ to fuck me for the first time, want you to put it in me.” 

“Jesus fucking _Christ,”_ Louis wheezes, pitching forward to swiftly and firmly nip Harry on the shoulder. It smarts in the best sort of way, and Harry cries out, letting his head fall back so that Louis can mouth up the ripple of his throat. “You’re _terrible,_ keeping this a secret from me, putting in batteries while I was away, teasing yourself, wishing I was there to fill you up,” he murmurs, hands all Harry’s body. “Can’t _wait_ to fuck you open, see you lose your mind. Gonna tease you for so long, Hazza.” 

“Please, please,” Harry sobs, hole already fluttering in desperate anticipation. “Want it so bad.” 

It takes them a while to actually get to the bedroom, as Harry’s slipped into the sticky, dumb sort of space he sometimes reaches when he’s really, really turned on and Louis’s really, really taking charge of it. As a result, he’s slow-moving, clumsy, distracted, has to keep stopping and kissing Louis and moving his hands down to cup his bum, encouraging him to squeeze. “Fuck,” Louis yelps, pushing him up against the wall outside their bedroom, thumbs biting into the sensitive skin under Harry’s collar bones. “If you keep this up, m’gonna end up having you in the hall, right here, just pushing you face first down on the carpet and taking that arse,” he warns, making a fist in Harry's left cheek and gripping it hard enough that he whines. “You want your pretty, pink toy, though, don’t you? Not rug burn.” 

Harry is a big fan of rug burn, actually, and not _entirely_ opposed to the scenario that Louis has just suggested, but then he remembers the maddening buzz of vibration and whimpers, shaking his head. “I’ll be good,” he promises, and the flash of Louis’s smile is a brilliant thing, so sharp and warm at the same time. 

“My good baby. Go on, strip and get on the bed and put your cute bum in the air for me. I’ll beright there,” he assures him, kissing Harry’s flushed face before padding back down the stairs to grab the batteries and power up the toy. 

It’s good he’s gone for a minute because it gives Harry some time to catch his breath, to stave off the inevitable spiral into a _want_ so powerful that he can’t think. He trips out of his PJs and pulls his shirt over his head, feeling _delightfully_ filthy as he climbs onto the bed and presses his burning cheek into the sheets, which are cool and smooth, even if they’re still rumpled and undone from having been slept in. He fists his leaking cock a bit to take the edge off, and with his other hand, he reaches around and gently prods at his hole, which feels so fucking hot and _needy_ , so _desperate_ to be stuffed and filled that he’s aching. He licks his fingers, stomach dropping as he tastes the musky spice of himself because he _knows_ it’s something Louis loves, something Louis _wants._

As if telepathically pulled into the room, Louis arrives at the door frame and stops, breath audibly catching. “ _God,_ you’re the fittest fucking thing,” he whispers, coming closer and laying his hand reverently on the curve of Harry’s little bum, smoothing his palm up it and pushing the dusting of hair there against the grain. Harry feels so taken care of and adored and _safe_ when Louis touches him _,_ even on his knees with his arse presented lewdly like his, and, _god,_ he's so grateful for Louis, Louis who knows what he wants, always, even if he hasn't said so yet, Louis who knew he wants to be fucked with a vibrator even before _he_ did. “Reach back here and pull yourself apart for me, angel,” Louis instructs gently, breath ghosting across Harry’s tailbone as he dips closer, body feeling hot and perfect. Louis is physically smaller than Harry in a lot of ways, but face down like this, Harry _feels_ small, vulnerable and split and turned inside out, and he _loves_ it, wants to give the whole of his interior to Louis, every inch. 

“Like this?” he asks, hands trembling and breath coming short and fast as he uses his fingers to pull his own cheeks apart and show Louis his winking hole. “ _God,_ fuck, Lou, I need you so badly.”

“I know you do, and I need you back,” Louis says shakily, thumbing over Harry’s rim and making it twitch. “Wanna get you all wet for your toy...keep yourself open like this for me, baby, yeah?” he asks, his voice the sweetest, lightest thing, and Harry feels himself slip lower, the static and haze engulfing him as he nods helplessly against the sheets. 

He feels Louis’s lips before he feels his tongue, a firm, hungry kiss pressed right into the center of him that makes Harry buck, his stomach twisting. Then Louis’s groaning as he licks him, tongue so fucking wet as he flicks it back and forth over Harry’s rim before swirling around and then into it. There’s something about getting eaten out like this that makes Harry feel unspeakably exposed, like there’s not a single thing he can hide when Louis’s tongue is right there inside him in his darkest, most intimate place, fucking up inside his hole, sucking at it, roughing up his taint with the stubble on his chin. Harry feels raw and broken, and it’s so, _so_ fucking good that all he can do is fist in the sheets, curl his toes, and moan while Louis takes him apart, a mess of breath and spit and hunger. 

“Taste so fucking good,” Louis slurs as he pulls away, kissing and nipping Harry’s thighs, the curves of his arsecheeks. “You’re opening up so good, too, such a greedy little hole.” 

Harry yelps as Louis thumbs over it again, dipping in easily because he’s so wet, twitching so much. He dives back in and holds Harry steady as he licks him out so roughly and regularly that Harry catches the rhythm and backs up into it, cutting off Louis’s laboured breath, rocking against his face. Louis keeps it up for a while until he pulls away with a messy smack to suck in a ragged breath. “Get on your back,” he orders, squeezing Harry’s leg right above the bend of his knee. “Lemme see how hard your cock is.” 

“Really hard,” Harry admits as he shakily flips over, voice nothing but a low scrape. Louis’s looking at him like he wants to eat him alive, eyes wide and sparkling, saliva making his mouth and cheeks shiny. His hair is a wreck, he's got spots of colour on his face, and he’s like something from Harry’s _dreams,_ the most gorgeous boy, and _his,_ all his, touching him like he’s beautiful, arranging him how he wants him, spreading his legs wide so that he can settle in between them. 

“Yeah, look at it, s’dripping all over you,” Louis marvels, voice cracking in awe as he reaches out and gently, gently wipes the precum at the tip before popping his glistening finger into his mouth to lick it off. Everything he does is poetry, the way he _moves,_ the elegance of his wrist, even when its bent only to do something _filthy._ Harry adores him so purely in this moment that it feels like his heart could rupture. 

_“_ I love you so much,” Harry chokes out, moved, squirming on the bed and well aware of how slippery-wet his hole feels after Louis eating him out for so long. “Are you gonna fuck me?” 

“Eventually,” Louis says, holding up the vibrator teasingly with his free hand, the other tracing almost-ticklish, idle patterns onto Harry’s heaving stomach. “Gonna play with you first, though,” he promises. He flicks the vibrator onto the lowest setting, and Harry starts to whimper even though he hasn’t even _felt_ it yet. Louis starts by first drawing it up his thigh, eyes fixed on the way that Harry’s skin prickles into goosebumps, muscles jumping underneath. “How does it feel?” 

“It tickles,” Harry murmurs, squirming even harder, precum beading from the slit of his cockhead. “S’nice, though.” 

“And this?” Louis asks, moving it up the inside of Harry's spread thighs to his balls, where he experimentally uses the tip to trace right up next to Harry’s taint but not quite there yet. It’s all too sensational to describe, an overwhelming, shivery crawl that has Harry trembling, his sac twitching, cock leaking.

“Fuck,” he whines, bucking into the pressure. “I don't _know,_ s’like...s’really—”

But then he sobs and forgets what he ever meant to say because Louis’s rubbing up and down the side of his cock with the vibrator, teasing it at the base before lining it up flush so that his shaft is parallel to the pink glittery one, the whole of him buzzing. “Oh, my _god,”_ Harry cries out, legs spasming. It’s entirely different than anything he’s ever felt before, more surface-level, more _superficial_ than getting wanked or sucked, but more intense, somehow, like he's going to shiver to pieces under it, come apart in seismic waves. “ _Fuck,_ Lou, I really like that,” he whimpers, humping the air so that his cock slides against the vibrator, getting it all wet with the precum leaking down his shaft. “It makes me feel—”

And he doesn't _know_ , or at least he can’t say it out loud. He want to say that he feels like a girl, but that’s not quite right, more like he feels sexy, vulnerable, torn open under the heat of Louis’s gaze in the best, most overwhelming way. “Like what?” Louis prompts, teasing the tip of the vibe back down to his balls. “I wanna know. And, _god,_ you look so amazing right now, just trembling for me, like you can’t keep it together, _Jesus_.” 

His voice is reverent, triumphant, _moved,_ and it makes Harry’s stomach coil up, hot and tight. “It feels... _fuck..._ I feel...pretty, I guess. Prettier than usual,” he admits, licking his lips. 

“You’re always pretty, angel,” Louis whispers, bending down to press a wet, open-mouthed, _searing_ kiss to the underside of Harry’s cock. “You’re gonna look so pretty with this in you, all stretched around it.” 

“Oh, god, I want it,” Harry begs, letting go of the sheets in favour of grabbing the backs of his knees and pulling them closer to his chest, splitting himself wider. “ _Please_.” 

Louis tuts and turns the vibrator to a higher setting, effectively shutting Harry up in the process as well. The feeling rattles through him, leaves him squirming and gasping because it’s almost _too much,_ too hot, too unstable. But as he’s trying to ride the wild waves of it, Louis doesn't let him escape, he just holds the toy to his cock, pressing it to him as he leans over Harry to grab the lube from the bedside table. Just when Harry thinks he’s about to start crying or else come, Louis settles back down onto his haunches and takes the toy back, leaving Harry lurching, panting. “Fuck,” he whines, reaching for his cock reflexively. 

“Nope,” Louis tells him, pinning his shaky hand to his stomach instead. “Not yet.” 

Harry’s throbbing with want, with overwhelm, and Louis’s just looking at him like there’s so much left that he wants to do, and it’s _terrifying,_ it’s delicious. Louis uncaps the lube and generously slicks up the toy, and even just _watching that,_ this thing Harry has dreamed about, _longed for,_ has his mouth flooded. “Love the way you spread yourself for me, so _needy,”_ Louis whispers, rubbing his sticky palm over the inside of Harry’s thighs as he rubs the vibrator back up his cock, getting it even wetter. “Can see your hole twitch every time I touch you...so fucking hot.” 

Harry can’t make himself talk, he just makes a wordless mewling sound in the back of his throat, humping against the vibrator in search of contact as Louis draws it lower, lower. Past his sac, back and forth over his perineum, _so_ close to where he wants it but not quite close enough. Harry’s holding his breath and rolling his hips, but Louis won't _let_ him impale himself like he wants to, he just keeps tracing the buzzing tip around his hole, over the creases of his thighs. Maddening, excruciating, _so_ fucking good. 

Harry’s drooling and crying by the time it finally happens, and even then, Louis doesn’t actually breach the rim, he just gently, sweetly rubs over it so that it dips in ever-so-slightly, catches on the muscle. “Fuck, _fuck,”_ Harry rasps, stunned that he even has words left at this point. “ _Please, Louis,_ m’gonna _die.”_

_“_ Think you can hold still?” Louis asks, laying one steadying palm on Harry’s abdomen under the twitching shaft of his cock. “Wanna play with that pretty hole, watch it open up for me.” 

“I can...yeah, I can,” Harry hiccups, shivering in wave after wave of mindless, broken desire. “I’ll try.” 

“My good boy, my baby,” Louis praises, and then, as he leans into the pressure of his palm, he pushes the vibrator into Harry’s slick, clutching hole. It’s smoother and easier to take than his cock, probably because of the tapered tip, but it still _burns_ and makes Harry lock up and gasp from the inescapable slow drag of being _filled,_ steady and sure, even if it’s only an inch or two. It’s so deeply satisfying that he lets out a wordless wailing sound, cock leaking all over him. “Jesus,” Louis breathes, twisting the vibe, the steady buzz of it making Harry tingle. “I didn’t even need to give you my fingers, you’re just so _open,_ gagging for it.” 

“Fill me up, Lou,” Harry pleads, even though he _knows_ that he won’t, knows that Louis’s going to tease him like this until he’s damn well ready, rotating without pushing it in any deeper. “Please,” he adds anyway, prepared to beg for however long it takes, beg just so that Louis _knows_ how badly he needs it. 

Louis’s insanely, amazingly patient. He holds Harry where he wants him and keeps him shuddering on the first few, tapered inches of the vibrator, pushing it in and out, keeping it inside him and watching him buck and writhe on it, praising him for how good he’s being, how pretty his little hole looks sucking at the tip of the toy, how gorgeous he’s gonna look stretched full of it. 

When Louis finally _does_ push it home, Harry is so blissed out and fractured that he’s not even expecting it. He sort of thought he might die here, teased to death, but one second he’s whimpering and chasing the inconsistent, buzzing pressure, and the next he’s _stuffed full,_ gasping at the relentless drag at his insides, the way he feels too small to fit it all in but _knows_ that he will, that he has to because he’s built for this and needs it to _live._ Louis withdraws, softly and carefully says, “There you go,” feeds him the entire length again in a single motion, and Harry is _gone._ Reduced to tremors and whimpers and bucks and tears, trying to fuck himself hollow on the length at the same time that he’s trying to wiggle away from the invasive, wild feeling of having something _vibrating_ inside of him. 

He knows the vibrator is buzzing, but he feels like _he’s_ buzzing, too, from the inside out, some deep, internal hum radiating through his whole body that’s leaving him a shivering mess, and he doesn’t know what to _do_ with it, how to _survive_ it, when it’s so good but at the same time so _much._ Fortunately, Louis can always read his body perfectly, so he doesn't leave it inside for very long; after the initial fucking motion, he’s pulling out again, thrusting the toy in shallow, digging thrusts a few times before sliding it in to the hilt again. “God, look at you swallowing it up, you _love_ it,” he marvels, bearing down over Harry and kissing him hard, tonguing his lips open and licking inside the gaping wet of his mouth, fucking it just like he’s fucking his hole. 

Harry sucks gratefully on Louis’s tongue, needing _something_ to anchor himself with, needing a north star by which to plot his course. His arse is pulsing around the toy, and it almost feels like he’s coming or that he already came, he’s so sensitive and overworked, but he _knows_ that he hasn’t, that his cock is still painfully hard between them, dripping precum onto his stomach with every deep push of the vibrator. “Louis,” he pants as Louis bites his way down his neck, relentlessly fucking his swollen, twitching hole so fast and hard that Harry feels like he’s been rent asunder, nothing but a raw, exposed nerve. “M’gonna come, can I come,” he babbles, dragging his nails down Louis’s arms. “Need to touch my cock.” 

“Yeah, you can touch it, baby,” Louis huffs out against his ear, breath hot and wet. “Come for me, come around the toy and show me how fucking good it feels.” 

Harry grips himself, pulls his dick twice, and without even fully registering that it’s happening, loses it all over them both, ribbons of come shooting off as high as his chest. He’s come hard plenty of times before, but it’s never _hurt_ so good, never wrenched something up so deep from his gut that he’s _sobbed_ like this. Louis can sense that he’s shattered and easily takes the toy out before shutting it off, replacing the wild, incomprehensible buzzing with his fingers. They’re warm and familiar, and Harry _needs_ that, needs to have his ruined insides gently massaged, Louis feeling his walls with hungry, tender pulses. 

“Fuck, you’re so swollen, so _fucked_ ,” Louis says, mouthing messily over Harry’s frantic pulse. “Feel so good inside.” 

“Oh, my god,” is all Harry can get out, cock still half-hard and twitching, hole clenching madly at the sweet, desperate push of Louis’s fingers. “ _Lou_.” 

“Can I come right here? Put my cock inside you and come? It’ll be so fast, m’so close,” Louis begs, and, _fuck,_ of course, of course, Harry will give him that, _wants_ to give him that. He’s Louis’s, and all he wants is to be open and wet and ready for him all the _time,_ wants Louis to come bare inside him and fill him full of come. Even if he _wasn’t_ going to finish fast, Harry would crave it, no matter how sore he was, how broken. 

“Lou, _please,_ please, come in me, gimme your come” he slurs, parting his thighs sluttily again, offering his hole, and even though they’ve never gotten missionary right before, Louis’s all over it, cursing and fumbling out of his tented PJs, cock hard and leaking and _thick-_ hot as he pushes the crown against Harry’s puffy, wet hole. 

“Like this? Facing me? You’re good?” he asks as he sinks in, and Harry has _never_ felt so perfect, so fucked out and split open and used up, in the best possible way. “I can flip you over if that's easier.” 

“Lou, just _fuck_ me, I need it,” Harry begs, clutching at him, rocking into the insistent pressure of his cock. It’s so much harder and noticeably blunter than the toy, _hotter_ to the touch, like being filled with fire, and he can’t think of a single better thing. “ _Please_.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Louis chokes out, hips jack-rabbiting messily as he fucks into Harry, rhythm unsteady, fractured, desperate. He’s gasping and red-faced, hair sweaty, and Harry _loves_ seeing him like this, loves knowing that it’s not just _him_ who’s been ruined by falling. “I love you,” Louis pants, holding Harry’s hips steady as he rams into him in earnest, their skin slapping as Harry lets out low, breathy moans with every thrust. “Gonna come in you, gonna...ah, _fuck,”_ Louis groans, and, _there,_ there it is, the thing that no toy could ever give him, the wild, hot rush of come in his insides like the tide. Harry cries out and arches his back, taking it like he’s meant to, and Louis shivers as he finishes, each snap of his hips shorter and more staccato than the last. 

Well after come has stopped pulsing out of him, he holds Harry, stays buried deep inside his arse, palming all over his shoulders, his hair, whatever he can reach. “You’re so perfect, so beautiful,” he announces once he gets his voice back, even if it’s tattered, weak. “So _good_ for me, letting me tease you for so long.” 

“It was, like, all my fantasies come true,” Harry confesses hoarsely. “I _wanted_ that, wanted you to draw it out, n’stuff. _God_ , it was so good, and this...this is even better. Having you, erm, _in_ me, still. Plugging up your come.” 

Louis gently finger-combs Harry’s soft hair, kisses his temple. “Love that you’re so perfect for me, everything I want.” 

“And you’re everything _I want,”_ Harry mumbles, body till trembling with the occasional aftershock. His hole feels impossibly full and sore and aching, but he never wants it to stop, wishes he could fall asleep like this, stuck to Louis with a layer of sweat and lube and come. 

“Am I _really?_ Or am I _almost_ everything, except my cock isn’t pink and glittery and buz—”

“Oh, my god!” Harry yelps, weakly slapping Louis’s shoulder as Louis dissolves into laughter so jerky that his cock slides out in a slick mess. “You said you _wouldn’t_ get weird and insecure!”

“It was a _joke,_ love, I _bought_ you that cock,” he snickers, using Harry’s discarded shirt to clean himself up. “And, wow, am I glad I did, s’fun to play with you like that. M’glad you were brave enough to confess your filthy fantasies to me since those Jager bombs obliterated the truth.” 

Harry sighs, curling up and drawing his trembling legs to his chest, feeling so hollowed out, so _wrecked_ that he’s not even sure he’ll have enough energy to get up and shower everything off, but he doesn’t even _mind._ He loves the idea of being painted in Louis’s come, marked in him, _drowned._ He sighs happily and mumbles, “M’glad you got a nice pink one and not, like, a seriously realistic one. Dunno if I ever would have warmed up to that. Plus…I just feel prettier when it’s pink.”

Louis kisses his temple and hauls him up by his shaky arms. “You’re always pretty, but I love helping, love that pink things make you feel pretty, too, s’really cute. We can talk about it more, you know, like, the next time you aren’t fuck-drunk or drunk-drunk.” 

“It’s a date,” Harry declares, kissing Louis hard as they stumble to the loo. And that night he dreams of a hundred toys of all shapes and sizes and pastel colours, shimmery glass dildos and neon purple anal beads and plugs with candy-heart bases, one end against his skin, the other always, forever, in Louis’s sure hand. 


End file.
